BBB: Kings of Loss
by OrcofthePigs
Summary: One year after the Battle of the Five Armies, Thranduil and Bard are in a happy relationship. When Bard travels to the Iron Hills to deliver gifts, Thranduil begins to worry. Finally, Bard returns, injured but alive. Thranduil is relieved, but a seed of doubt remains lodged in his heart. He wonders if he and Bard really be together: Can a elf truly love a mortal?
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

The halls of Mirkwood were alive with sound. Thranduil hadn't been greeted by so many joyous creatures since the days of the Greenwood forests. He walked along the heavily lit halls, his steps lighter than usual. It was today a year since the defeat of the orcs in the Battle of the Five Armies. Thranduil had decided to host a party in his palace, hoping to bring new life to it. It seemed his plan had worked. Elves, dwarves, men, all laughed in his halls. All except one man, who was soon to leave on a trip to the Iron hills to deliver gifts for their help in the battle, and therefore could not come to the celebration. Thranduil was off to visit Bard now, to wish him farewell. He came to the front exit, which was lit from a pale glow of sunshine that had managed to find its way through the trees, and spotted a she-elf. She stood perfectly still, facing the open doors.

"I am surprised you have not joined in with the festivities," he told her lightly, continuing forward.

She stayed silent, and as Thranduil neared her and spotted her flowing auburn hair, he realized why. "Tauriel," he murmured.

"How is it," she said, her voice scraggly. "How is it that I knew that dwarf for so little time and yet a year later I think of him still?"

Thranduil tensed, unsure of what to do. Comforting was not his expertise. He stepped forward so that he stood directly at her side. Her face was a book unwritten, blank and non-present.

Losing your loved one was something everyone feared. Thranduil more than most, as he had felt that pain before. "He was worth it, though." He knew this was true, and yet he felt himself asking: Was his lover? Was Bard worth the pain of loss?

"Of course," said Tauriel. Her lips turned downwards, but in anger rather than sadness. "It is insanity, to still be moping about because of him. I need to move on."

The words struck Thranduil like an arrow piercing his heart. "If there is one thing I have learned in all this time it's that moving on and forgetting are entirely separate matters." He could see his wife, gently resting her head on his shoulder. He could almost hear her whispering "I love you", and the words floating effortlessly off Thranduil's tongue: "I love you, too."

"Just because you remember someone, and still grieve for them, does not mean you have not moved on," he said, speaking as much to himself as to Tauriel. "I have seen you happy, flirting with young elves…you have moved on."

A silence stretched between them. Then Tauriel left without a word.

Thranduil rode on a horse of Rohan, which Bard would take to the Iron Hills. Of course this horse was not as fast as a maera, but she was still significantly speedier than the average ride. Bard was in a bit of a frenzy when Thranduil arrived, making the elf feel a little uncomfortable and unwelcome. It was Sigrid who opened the door, her hair uncombed. "Sorry, my father's trying to get some stuff together. Da!" she called behind her shoulder, "Thranduil's here!"

When you became the partner of Bard the Bowman you realized that planning was not his strong suite. He was, in fact, quite awful at being a king, although he was an inspiring one. When Bard finally emerged, several bags were slung across his shoulder and his cheeks were puffed out in a sigh. He smiled and hugged Thranduil, letting his head rest on the elf's shoulder for a moment. "I'll miss you."

That felt nice, to be missed. "As will I, although I will like being liberated from the smell."

"Not all of us have magical hygiene-maintenance abilities," Bard responded, chuckling. Sometimes Thranduil was astounded by the equality between them, he was no better than Bard, no more powerful. That was rare for Thranduil, but he wished it were not. The last few minutes before Bard set out passed in a blur. There was hugging, and advice, and "stay safe"s and then it was time. Bard went up on his tiptoes to reach Thranduil's lips and wrapped his hands around the elf. Thranduil caressed his partner's cheek, trying to memorize the shape of it. He spotted Tilda pulling a disgusted face at her brother and sister, Sigrid nudging her to stop. The couple broke apart, and then Bard was off with a "Goodbye!", back-lit by the setting sun. It would be a long time before Thranduil saw him again.

The celebrations were dwindling down when he arrived back in Mirkwood, many who had to travel had left before dark. He retired to his room almost as soon as he got back, going over paper-work and organizing kingly duties for a while before going to bed. However, sleep did not come. He remained in a middle-ground between wakefulness and dreams for what must have been hours.

Thranduil hadn't liked the idea of his partner traveling by himself to the Iron Hills. The original plan had been for a relatively large party to go with him, but Bard stubbornly insisted on going alone, saying it would save time and supplies.

Everyone seemed to think all evil, and certainly all goblins and orcs, had perished in the Battle of Five Armies. But Thranduil suspected, was almost certain, that evil was very much still alive. He was almost positive there were small groups of goblins or orcs out there...in hiding, waiting for someone to take a wrong step. He flipped onto his back and massaged his head with the palm of his hands. "Go to sleep," he murmured to himself.

He was normally able to go into a meditative-like state with a blank mind, but his thoughts of Bard being torn apart by hidden evil stayed in his mind and followed him into his dreams.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Thranduil was greeted in sleep by only nightmares. They were almost all just snippets of sound and images: goblins dancing and cackling, swirling into darkness before a different scene played. The longest took place in the dungeons, with every light out except the candle Thranduil held in his unsteady hand. Every step he took echoed loudly through the halls, which shivered in the light. He took a step around a corner and a strangled scream escaped his throat. Bodies of elves and dwarves and men hung from the ceiling, swaying ever so slightly. As Thranduil cautiously neared, he realized that he recognized most of the faces. Thorin Oakenshield was there, blood trailing down his lip. Kili hung beside his relative, terror frozen on his face. Thranduil took another step and came face to face with his wife. Her face was in a scream, she was caked with blood, her hair matted, gaping slashes covered her body. She looked as she did in Thranduil's worst nightmares...Thranduil opened his eyes to the wood ceiling of his bedroom. No bodies hung there.

Thranduil opted to eat breakfast alone, not ready to confront anyone after his dreams. He couldn't figure them out. It was not uncommon for him to have nightmares, and many of them featured the twisted body of his dead friends and family. But this had been different, more nuanced and realistic. He wasn't ready to believe in dream messages or anything of that sort, but it seemed there was something infecting his mind. He took a stubborn bite of eggs and tried to push the negativity out with a deep sigh.

There was a knocking on his door. He almost choked on his food as the sound pulled him out of his thoughts. "Yes?" he grumbled, rather moodily.

"Are you alright?" the voice was sweet and quiet.

"I'm fine, Sigrid," Thranduil responded with more enthusiasm. He was alright, or at least he had no reason not to be.

Sigrid paused, and Thranduil bit the inside of his cheeks, silently hoping for her to leave. "Well, I'm sure Bard is, too," she finally responded, before a light shuffling signified her departure.

But, as the days went on, Thranduil became less and less comfortable with his partner's absence. Four days later, still three days before Bard was meant to return, he decided to try and get his mind off it by going hunting. A young elk awaited him in the stables. Although still young and therefore smaller and less magnificent than his sire, the elk who had served Thranduil for so many years, he had his father's good looks and strong will. Thranduil placed a gentle hand on the creature's snout. He had decided to name it Tinu, meaning star, because of the fawn's glittery eyes and silvery fur that reminded him of the bright orbs. Thranduil mounted Tinu easily and led him out into the woods.

Hunting was hard in Mirkwood; nearly impossible, in fact. Even if an animal was around, they were hard to spot, and many weren't fair game as many of the animals who ventured into the dark forest were lost offspring or mothers. Today however, Thranduil was lucky, perhaps because of the slow lessening of darkness in the wood. Before long, he spotted a rabbit's nose peeking out from the undergrowth. He gave a tug on Tinu's reins and the elk halted instantly. The only noise was the breeze blowing through the trees. The rabbit noticed the silence, too and swiveled its ears forward in caution. Thranduil quietly but swiftly loaded his bow and aimed. He did not release it, instead surveying his target closely. No chest hair was missing, which indicated the rabbit was not pregnant, and its nose was clean, showing it had not been digging a nest. Thranduil took a final breath, and released the arrow. The rabbit was dead before it could make a noise, pierced through the head.

Thranduil hadn't always been the type to pay close attention to his prey. He had always been of the opinion that animals live, and then they die, and it didn't really matter how long they lived, or how they died. He didn't care if a rabbit had kits who would starve without their mother, because to an elf the five years those kits might live was as quick as the arrow that pierced the mother's heart.

Bard had changed that. Thranduil remembered the first time he had gone hunting with his partner, a month after they had started dating. Bard wasn't really a hunting master...in fact he was absolutely atrocious at it. Bard seemed to think this was because the only animals in Laketown were fish, and that therefore he had no experience. As the man was famous for shooting a dragon in a tiny chink of it's armor, Thranduil suspected it was more likely the bowman's short attention span and annoying soft spot were the culprit. That soft spot had become clear when, towards the end of the day, a young buck appeared in the trees. Thranduil had already caught something that day, and there would certainly be no consequences if the buck got away, so he let Bard have it. Bard nodded and loaded his bow. Then the deer turned its head to look at them. Thranduil glanced at Bard, who still wasn't shooting. The deer decided it wasn't safe, and ran off, flashing a bright white tail in what Thranduil interpreted as mockery.

"Why didn't you shoot?" Thranduil had asked with a hiss to his voice.

Bard shrugged, his eyes still on the point where the buck had disappeared. "Sometimes you have to let one go," he shifted his eyes back to Thranduil. "Well, I do. Choose your battles, I suppose. Sometimes, that is the only difference between a hero and a villain."

This confused Thranduil more than answered him. "We are hunting, not saving the world. Come on, we ought to get back."

He had thought more about Bard's response after that. He eventually decided his partner had meant that heroes had to kill, but they did not always kill. Perhaps Bard hadn't been thinking of the deer, but of himself.

So, as Thranduil picked up the dead rabbit, he was respectful and gentle pulling the arrow out. Thranduil's heart had turned to stone long ago, but Bard always found the chink in the armor.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Then came the day when Thranduil's fears began to take hold in even the most optimistic. News spread fast through the palace, so that just a day after Bard was scheduled to return, the whispers began to be unbearable. Thranduil found himself spending much of his time looking out over the forest, hoping desperately to see a horse galloping towards him.

He could feel that the people of his halls' did not like the way he was acting, but he chose to ignore them. He didn't want to have to live without Bard, the man who had made him better. He did not want to relive the sinking feeling that came with a messenger saying "I'm so sorry." He was not interested in becoming the man he had been before, unloving and unloved. He needed Bard as a horse needs a rider, he was lost without his partner's calming influence.

It was the first warm day, now three weeks since Bard's departure. Young elves traveled with their families out of Mirkwood to take advantage of the spring sun. As Thranduil crossed the hall that morning, he overheard the elf who was taking care of Bard's children asking them if they would like to go play in the sunshine, it was a short journey. The answer was a firm no. Thranduil realized he had scarcely spoken to them since their father's departure. He placed a hand on the she-elf's shoulder. "I'll take care of them, Tiriel, you go eat some breakfast," he said quietly. She was well-known for being a bit of a careless free spirit, but had quickly volunteered to take care of Bard's children while he was away. She had scarcely been away from them recently. Normally she split the work with Sigrid, but now the eldest child needed care-taking as much as her siblings.

Her face lit up with surprise and suppressed joy, quickly followed by a more serious expression. "Oh, yes, my lord. Of course you would want to talk with them."

Thranduil knocked on the door. "We're fine," said Bain indignantly.

"It's Thranduil."

All sound ceased for a moment. Then, Sigrid opened the door, not making eye-contact with him. He walked in to the small space, which had a distinct gloominess to it. Tilda was a asleep under thick furry blankets, Bain sat on the edge of his bed. "Is there anything wrong?" Sigrid asked halfheartedly, coming back to the center of the room.

Bain crossed his arms, "He's coming back," he hissed

Thranduil was surprised at first by the bitterness in Bain's voice. The boy was usually kind and soft-spoken. But, of course, love could do many strange things. "We must hope." A shiver ran down Thranduil's spine as he thought of the alternative. "I...wanted to talk with you. I know how you must feel."

"How can you?" Sigrid flashed a warning glance at her brother as he continued without hesitation. "You're a heartless, arrogant king who cares about nothing but himself."

Thranduil felt a pressure build up inside him, ready to explode in a forceful expulsion of nasty words. Instead, he clenched his teeth. For Bard, he thought. "I know. And you have every right to call me that. But even my heart can feel pain, I do feel pain. I know you must, too. Please, let me help."

Bain looked defeated, deflated. He sat back down on the bed, Sigrid joining him. Tilda rolled over sleepily. "Go back to bed, Tilly," Sigrid said gently, keeping her eyes on Thranduil.

The little girl caught sight of the elf and sprang up. "It's okay, Tilda, go back to sleep," Sigrid insisted. Tilda was just as stubborn, eventually convincing Sigrid to let her stay up.

Thranduil suddenly felt strange, with three sets of young eyes hungrily awaiting answers. He thought back to so many years ago, when he had comforted a young Legolas that his mother would come back, that she was fine. It was the first lie he had ever told his son. Now, finding himself as a sort of a father once again, he took a different approach. "I don't know where Bard is, I certainly do not know if he is safe. But I do know that worrying will not make him come back any sooner." Thranduil waited for reactions, but none came. "There is no point in tearing your lives apart for something you can not control."

The only sound was of the spring rain that had began to fall outside. Thranduil continued, "I believe hope is more powerful than fear." When the children continued to remain eerily quiet, he stopped, worn out.

"How old are you?"

Thranduil blinked, surprised by Tilda's question. "Around 6,000, now"

Her eyes widened. "That's very old."

Thranduil smiled. "Very old indeed."

Later in the day, Thranduil sat doing torturous paperwork. He considered having someone else do it for him, but he was currently dealing with the fate of an elf he had known as a child, now accused of thievery. Elves were not large law-keepers. Mostly because few crimes were committed, and somewhat because of what Tauriel described as laziness in the elvish justice system. It was all turning into a mess, Thranduil's brain drawing blanks at every turn, when he saw something out his window. He stayed near it now, hoping for any sign of a majestic, white horse...and there it was, flashes of it showing through the trees.

In an instant, Thranduil leaped from his seat, sending several papers flying through the air. He took the quickest route to the front exit and rushed outdoors just as the horse arrived at the steps. Thranduil stopped in his tracks, nearly stumbling over his own, confused feet.

Its back was empty. Thranduil thought he may throw up. Any positive pretense of strength was abandoned the moment he saw the bareness of that horse's saddle. "No," he murmured, taking a step toward the beast. The eyes were a deep, comforting shade of brown, but this did nothing but infuriate Thranduil more. "No!" he yelled hoarsely. He glared at the horse, silently demanding it to tell him why. Did it dare return without its rider? The wretch dared come back here, uninjured, with an empty saddle?

Other elves arrived, but Thranduil scarcely noticed them, their speech meaningless noise in his ears. "Send out a search party,"' he demanded.

"Yes, my lord," said an elf, Thranduil did not care to notice who. The elf left, but others still crowded around.

"Come, my lord," said a gentle voice, "Let us go indoors." Thranduil let the voice guide him inside to a cool, dark room. He felt himself guided to a chair, he felt hands on his shoulders, shaking him. "Thranduil!" said the voice.

Thranduil finally jerked out of his stupor. The voice belonged to Tauriel, who stood over him, gripping him tightly. She had her mouth clenched sternly but her glistening eyes gave her away: she was worried. He looked away, embarrassed by his unprofessional behavior. "Are you alright?" Tauriel continued unevenly.

Thranduil nodded, swallowing forcefully. "I'm fine." He readjusted himself, feeling weak. He now recognized the room as the prep room off the kitchens, the first more private place that was near the exit. Tauriel sat as well, curling her legs up beneath her.

"A horse is better than nothing, no?" she tried, "At least we have a starting place, now."

Thranduil nodded weakly, "He was so...close..." He slammed his fist on the arm of his chair, making Tauriel jump. He wished she would leave him alone, but he knew if he sent her away she would bother him constantly. "If he's dead, I wish I just knew it! This waiting is making a fool of us all." He leaned back in defeat, twisting the rings on his fingers.

Tauriel swung down her legs and stood. "I'm going with the others. We will find him," she said stubbornly.

Thranduil met her eyes and she did not look away. He couldn't help feeling a twinge of pride in his gut. Tauriel had that rare light to her that kept despair at bay. She kept going, even when everyone else had fallen. Really, Thranduil had no doubt they would find Bard. They would find a broken body, a twisted figure lying on the ground. Thranduil broke the eye contact. His light flickered out, leaving Thranduil alone in the blackness of his loss.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Rain drops swirled in strange patterns on the window, slowly making their mournful descent downwards. Thranduil leaned back into his chair, wrapping his long fingers around the arms. He normally had no quarrel with rain, in fact he quite liked it. He found it relaxing, the way it washed everything away, leaving the world fresh and ready to start anew. But today, he saw it only as an obstacle between himself and Bard. Even though the search party had gone out despite of the conditions, their chances of actually finding anything in the heavy rain and mud were slim.

For a moment, a watery sun poked through the clouds, right overhead. The river glistened, roaring heavier than usual with the downpour. Then, the clouds swallowed the light back up. As it was nearly midday, Thranduil decided it was time to get dressed. He hadn't been out of his quarters yet, having had breakfast delivered directly to him. He left his hair down and hanging in his face, not seeing the particular worth in being well groomed today.

The search party would be returning soon, resting for a while before braving the storm once more, so Thranduil decided to wait for them near the entrance hall. However, before he had the chance, Tauriel burst into the hallway he was walking down. She was soaking wet, still holding her dripping cloak in her arms. Her boots were lathered with mud, as were her hands. When she saw Thranduil, her eyes lit up. She ran over to him, clearly excited. He was about to tell her to take her filthy shoes off before she took another step, but then she began to speak.

"We found footprints! Fresh footprints!" she said, rushing and tumbling over her own words.

Thranduil stood frozen, unable to believe the information that was entering his ears. "You're sure they are his?" he gasped after a moment.

Tauriel nodded. "They certainly look like it, the shape of the soles was distinctly from Lake-town." She broke into a smile. "Thranduil, you know what this means. He's alive, and he's close!"

Thranduil fell against the wall for support. "Where? Where was this?"

"Near the spiders' domain, in the middle of Mirkwood. The other's are still there. They sent me back to get some food and tell you and Sigrid the news."

Thranduil tilted his head to look at her. "Not his other children?"

Tauriel's smile finally faded, melting off her face like snow in the hot sun. "We didn't want the younger ones to...be disappointed."

Thranduil stood up straight once more and shook the hair out of his face. "We wouldn't want that. Get back to it, then!" he said, waving her away.

Tauriel smiled and turned to leave, but paused, turning back over her shoulder. "We will find him. I can feel it."

Thranduil couldn't hold it back anymore, the energy built and stuffed inside him. He broke into a smile. "I can feel it, too."

Thranduil's plans for the day, which had honestly been quite dull, vanished after he heard the news. He paced around in his chambers, glancing out the window every time he passed by it, waiting... At first, there seemed to be a constant stream of knocks on the door. "Are you alright, my lord?", "Are you still there, my lord?"

After about a dozen, Thranduil yelled at whoever was outside, "The next elf to knock on that door gets shot in the head."

They left him alone after that. The sun was beginning to set now, and Thranduil's anxiousness intensified to a point of almost unbearable pressure. He stopped moving for a moment, sitting on his bed and taking a deep breath. He realized just how tired he was, his limbs numb and limp. It was truly dusk now, the sun slipping silently away. He lay down his head and massaged his tense neck. He would rest, just for a bit, until Tauriel and the others came back.

Thranduil jerked awake to rapping on his door. He opened his mouth to tell whoever was there that he was fine and that they had better things to do than check up on him, when he registered the bright sunlight streaming through the window. The sun was high in the clear sky, it must have been approaching midday. He sprung upright, wondering how on earth he had managed to sleep for so long.

"Yes?" he grumbled sleepily.

"My lord, it's Bard. He's back."

"He's-" Thranduil stopped, nearly choking. "He's back? Here? Now?"

"Yes, my lord, he just arrived. He has been severely injured, the healers have him now."

Thranduil rose hastily, quickly running his hands through his hair in the hopes of flattening it, then rushed to the door. He opened to a petite she-elf wearing a loose green dress. Thranduil had seen her somewhere before, but he couldn't place her. It didn't matter,though. Only Bard mattered, right now. "Where do they have him?" Thranduil gasped, abandoning any royal sophistication.

"My lord-"

Thranduil began to pace. "I need to see him."

"He's not yet awake..." The messenger tried desperately.

"Now," snarled Thranduil. He was not interested in being nice, he was interested in seeing his partner.

"The doctor forbade it," snapped the young she-elf, blocking his path.

Thranduil desperation solidified into something else, something ugly. "What's your name?" He growled.

The she-elf lowered her eyebrows in confusion. "Gilrin," she answered.

"Well, Gilrin," he paused after he said this, making sure to meet her deep brown eyes. "I can make your life miserable with one word and I plan to if you don't get out of my now."

The she-elf's wide eyes met his for only a moment before she glanced away. Thranduil pushed past her and rushed toward where Bard was being held.

He pushed through the oak doors. Doctors and nurses swarmed around, holding herbs and such. They glanced nervously at him, before one stepped out of the heaving ball. "Thranduil, no! You'll get in the way." This was Calaerwen, his best doctor. He was always grateful for her, but now he only wished to get past.

Before Thranduil could say another word, she yelled across the room, "guards!"

"I am the king!" He snapped furiously.

Calaerwen whipped around and stared into his eyes. It made him uncomfortable, he wasn't used to anyone being that brave. "I am the doctor, that is my patient, and every moment you spend in here is a moment he spends dying. Now get out."

This effectively shut Thranduil up, and he let the guards escort him away.

Thranduil sat down in the hall, hunching his back in defeat. The guards left, and all at once everything came flowing out of Thranduil in great, heaving sobs. All the anxiety, and the pain of the wait, and the happiness of the return, all came flowing out in the uncontrollable tears. They streaked his face in a way nothing had for centuries, draining from eyes kept dry by constant monitoring. It only lasted for a minute, and then he was straightening back up and wiping his eyes. The embarrassment was setting in now. He realized how unprofessional he had been, how disrespectful. He thought about at least apologizing to the messenger girl, Gilrin, but eventually opted to stay where he was. The minutes stretched by.

Finally, there was a knock on the closed door. "It's Gilrin. My mother says you can see him now."

Thranduil felt his face tingle with anticipation, and a fair amount of dread.

"He will be alright?"

The messenger sighed. "we think so, but we can't be sure." She led him back to the healing room. Thranduil went straight to the curtained off section that was Bard's. Calaerwen was sitting at his side, speaking to him. Bard looked frail and old, with his head propped up with a pillow and his eyes barely forced open. But, when he saw Thranduil, his whole face lit up and he tried to smile, but found he was too weak to hold one for long. The elf rushed over to his partner and stroked the long, dark hair. Thranduil looked him over and gasped when he saw what must have been his partner's leg sticking out from the white blankets. It was mangled and bloody, surely beyond repair. Bard followed Thranduil's gaze and pulled the leg away after only a moment, but the image was still etched into Thranduil's eyes.

"I Thought I would never see you again," Bard croaked.

Thranduil didn't know how to respond, so instead just stayed silent and smiled. Calaerwen placed a cool hand on Thranduil's shoulder, "I'll leave you two alone," she said gently, using a voice quite different than the one she scolded him with before.

"I never thought I'd get out," Bard tried again, adjusting himself in an attempt to sit up.

Thranduil gingerly pushed him back down. "Shhh. No talking." Thranduil felt his throat tighten, hearing Bard like this was more painful than any stab wound.

"The goblins..."

Thranduil bit his lip, holding back questions. Part of him desperately wanted to know every detail about Bard's journey back, but he knew Bard needed rest. "Go to sleep, or I will call in the doctor."

Bard rolled his eyes and looked up at Thranduil. "Stay with me?"

Thranduil smiled. "Of course."

As Bard's eyes closed and his breath slowed, Thranduil's mind wandered. Bard was safe. Injured, but alive and home. And yet, a twinge of unease remained within Thranduil, deep in his gut. Perhaps it was because of Bard's leg-perhaps he was still worried that Bard wouldn't pull through

But part of him knew that wasn't the real cause for his worry. Thranduil, despite of Gilrin's warnings, knew his partner would recover, the man was tough. No, Thranduil's worries were not because of anything current. His only fear was of time. So little time. How long before Bard withered away? Wilted in a sun too bright for his delicate frame? Thranduil felt his heart harden, trying to hide from the pain, protect itself. He heard a voice in his head screaming "he is a mayfly, a sick, insignificant insect!" Thranduil tried to shake the thoughts away, but part of him agreed. To an elf, the sixty more years Bard could live seemed like nothing, like a single day. The voice continued, overpowering and private all at once, "This is not love. How can it be? He is an insect. Dead before it can learn what love is."

Thranduil badly wanted to leave, but he couldn't break his promise. So, instead, he pushed his chair in closer and rested his cheek on Bard's chest, listening to the beating of his partner's heart. Alive.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Thranduil was awakened by a tapping on his shoulder. He jerked up, blinking rapidly. It was Bard, laughing now. "I thought I was the one who was supposed to need the sleep," he said.

Thranduil smiled and rubbed his eyes, finding his mind blissfully free of worries for Bard's life span. "I need my beauty rest. What time is it?"

Bard shrugged, "Calaerwen!" he called across the room, rubbing his throat afterwards. It must have hurt for him to yell.

The doctor peeked her head in. "Is something the matter?"

Bard opened his mouth to speak, but Thranduil stopped him. "We were just wondering the time."

"Dawn. You two slept all night. Or at least I hope it was sleeping." She left with a wink.

Bard stretched and yawned. He looked better this morning, with the color returning to his cheeks. "How are my children?"

Thranduil started. He had forgotten about Bard's children. "They are fine. I'm surprised they have not visited yet."

Bard sighed sadly. "I imagine Calaerwen didn't want them to see me like this."

Calaerwen must have deemed it fine for them to see him this morning, as not five minutes later Sigrid ran in, closely followed by Bain and Tilda. "Da!" Tilda squealed, running into her father's outstretched arms. The others followed suit, Bard disappearing under a mass of children. He stroked their hair and closed his eyes contentedly. The hug broke up, and Tilda went to sit on Bard's lap. He let out a cry of pain, surprising Tilda. "Sorry, Tilda," he grunted. "You can't sit there today."

Sigrid looked worried. "Da, is it bad? I heard you were attacked..."

"I'm fine, Sigrid," Bard soothed. "I am not dying anytime soon."

Thranduil tensed, the words messing with his mind. He stood slowly, suddenly sweaty. "I think I will be leaving,"

Bard glanced up questioningly. "You don't need to-"

Thranduil shook his head. "No, I have some things to look over." He left as quickly as possible. He closed the door and leaned against it. He was alone in the hallway of the healing wing once again, the only sound being his own breath. He wished he could be happy with Bard, without constantly worrying about death. But he knew the thoughts would haunt him until the day Bard died, and perhaps even then in his dreams. He could picture in his mind Gilrin knocking on his door. "My lord, I have news of Bard," she would trail off, but Thranduil would know...

He pushed the thoughts away, but they still teased him, they were still there in the back of his mind, ready to burst forth at the slightest trigger. Thranduil raised his fingers to his temple and massaged the area. He realized, then, that he and Bard could not be together. Or perhaps 'realize' was the wrong word. He accepted it. What sort of relationship would that be? A hollow one, empty of true trust or happiness.

Thranduil would need to tell him, but not now, that would be cruel. He would do it when Bard had truly recovered. He lifted himself from the door-frame and walked away from what felt like a crime scene.

Bard slowly recovered. His leg mercifully began to heal after a few more nights. The infection that had started was easily killed off, and the wounds themselves were relatively shallow. Although Thranduil knew he should be happy about his partner's quick healing, he felt a fair amount of dread for the day when Bard was well enough the hear the news. Selfishly, he didn't even visit him often; it hurt too much.

Then, one sultry afternoon, the announcement was given over breakfast that Bard had been released from the healers. Bard's children, who Thranduil invited to breakfast with him most mornings, laughed with glee and shared looks of relief. Thranduil smiled too, but Tauriel seemed to notice that it did not quite reach his eyes, as she looked at him in concern. Sigrid, Bain, and Tilda asked to be excused after a few more rushed bites, and Thranduil nodded that they could leave. He was now alone with Tauriel and a few guards by the door, who Thranduil sometimes barely classified as people. He stayed and ate his meal as slowly as possible, knowing he would be expected to see Bard when he was done. Finally, Tauriel got up from her seat, and walked over to him.

"You did not ask if you could get up," trying to sound menacing but failing miserably.

She sighed and sat in the chair next to him. "What is wrong, my lord?" It wasn't really a question, but more of a demand.

Thranduil mirthlessly stabbed his turnips. "Not anything of importance."

"I am not leaving until you tell me what's wrong."

Thranduil placed his fork on the napkin, giving up on eating. "It's Bard."

Tauriel simply nodded. "Of course. What troubles you?"

Thranduil became aware of the guards, even though he knew they were not listening, and certainly would not tell. "Well, It is obvious that we can no longer be together."

Tauriel opened her mouth but closed it again just as quickly. The candle light made it hard for him to read her expression. "Because he will age and die, while you will remain young." His shifting eyes seemed to be enough of an answer. "Thranduil, why worry about that now? That will come in many years."

Thranduil clenched his jaw. "Why worry about his death now? Because I cannot truly love him. That is not fair for either of us. He does not deserve a lover who is worried constantly about his death!" He did not realize until he finished speaking that his voice had risen to a shout.

Tauriel looked taken aback. "Thranduil, he loves you! You love him! You cannot throw that away," she said harshly.

Thranduil stood and glared at her. "How dare you?" he hissed. He left without another word. He liked Tauriel, he truly did. But she had no right to tell him what he could or could not do.

He paced around the castle for awhile, pretending to be productive. Then, at around midnight, he turned around to Bard watching him as he shuffled papers without intent. He froze for a moment, then smiled and greeted his partner. "Bard! Good to see you on your feet. I have been busy all morning."

Bard nodded, but doubt clouded his eyes. He walked over with a bit of a limp and grabbed Thranduil's hands. He ran his thumb over them for a moment before looking up at Thranduil. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Thranduil said, trying to keep emotion out of his voice.

Bard tilted his head and the light caught his grey eyes, making them more beautiful than ever. And more terrifying. "You've been thinking. You have that face."

Bard was hard to lie to. Thranduil sighed, giving up. He had to try twice for the words to actually come out, his mouth rejecting them. "We can no longer be together."

Bard stayed perfectly still almost as if he had not heard. Thranduil opened his mouth again, ready to repeat himself when his partner finally reacted. "Why?"

Thranduil tightened his hand, feeling his heart begin to pound. He didn't know how to explain it...Bard could not relate to Thranduil's situation, he had not had to witness the people he loved wither and die. Thranduil blinked. Yes, he had. "Bard...your wife," Thranduil said quietly, "how did it feel, when she died?"

Bard sighed, and then his eyes slid out of focus, as if he were there again. "Like...as if nothing mattered. She was dead, that was it. How could the world go on without her? I felt so worthless, life felt worthless." His glossy eyes slid back to Thranduil. "I felt broken."

Thranduil lifted there clasped hands and squeezed. "Bard, you know how it feels to lose someone, as do I." Bard looked away, holding in tears, or hateful words. "You are going to die. I am not, I will live." Thranduil wanted Bard to look at him, accept, understand. "Bard, I can't lose you. I cannot."

Bard backed away, out of light. "Thranduil, I love you. I know you don't want to lose me but I do not want to lose you! Aren't I worth it?"

Thranduil's confidence shriveled. He sank against the desk behind him. "Of course." He wasn't sure if Bard heard him at first, he had scarcely heard himself. Then, his partner drew up to him and kissed him. It was messy, and it made Thranduil's heart hurt. But he knew this battle was lost, he would not break up with Bard today.

Thranduil was angry with himself. He wondered, as he signed countless documents with a rushed fury, why he could not have just done the deed and ended it. It seemed so simple, looking back. Just a few words, and he could have walked away. But that was not how loved worked, he told himself. Everything is complicated when it comes to love.

The mood around him was light and cheerful. Bard brought his children back to life, and the laughs of a happy family filled Thranduil's halls. They would ask him to join in, sometimes, but he always said he had work to do, or he was too tired. He found himself no happier now than he had been when Bard was gone, although he often wondered if he should be. Why couldn't he just forget about it all and live in the moment? But he still found himself noticing every new grey hair on Bard's head, every wrinkle.

Five days after Bard's release from the hospital, he decided he couldn't handle it any longer. Everyday, he tried to muster up the courage to break up with Bard, and everyday he failed miserably. Something had to change. He was done living in this limbo, he needed to get away...He went to his quarters and began to pack.

He did not know where he would go, but that could be decided later. Perhaps, after a few days of silence and solitude, he would be able to face Bard. He decided to pack light, bringing only some spare garments, minimal food, and of course weapons. By the evening, he felt ready to leave, but decided to wait until the sun fully set. As he sat anxiously, he pondered if he should tell anyone where he was going. He couldn't tell everyone, it would defeat the purpose. Bard and perhaps others would worry, but he only planned on being gone a few days. Still, he felt as if someone should know...

He slung his small bag over his shoulder and grabbed his bow, quiver, and sword. Then, he walked silently down to one of the lower levels. His eyes darted back and forth to make sure no one was watching him, before he climbed stealthily out a low window, finding a foothold on some detailing, and dropping to the ground. Two figures stood in the darkness near him. They turned when they heard him, and the faint light of the stars was enough for Thranduil to make out their faces. Tauriel, and Tirriel, who had recently applied to be a member of the guard. He had decided, after some thought, to trust them with where he was going, and had told them to meet him here, at midnight.

Tauriel smiled, although her eyes were filled with concern. "You are leaving the castle, then?" she said.

Thranduil nodded. "I do not plan on being gone long, I just need a break." Tirriel was looking over Thranduil's head, clearly wondering why she was there. "I thought you both would understand that."

"Where will you go?" Tauriel asked, eyeing his small supply bag.

Thranduil realized he had never decided. "No where in particular, I suppose. I'll head towards Beorn, but I may turn back long before I reach it."

The others gave a curt nod, and they stood in a stiff silence for a moment. Finally, Thranduil said what was truly on his mind. "Do you think me a coward?"

Tauriel looked taken aback, not sure of what to say. Tirriel was the one who answered him, "I suppose we are all cowards, in some way or another."

After bidding them goodbye, and Tauriel had reminded him to stay watchful at least five times, Thranduil left them and his halls behind, and ventured into the night.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

The sky was a pale purple before Thranduil finally sat down to rest. Lost in thought, he had walked all night, kept on his feet by elven stamina and the underestimated power of mindlessness. Now, he was halfway through Mirkwood, judging by his surroundings. He stretched his legs out over the leaf-covered soil and reached in his bag for an apple. As he ate, he watched the movements of the forest around him. Thranduil had always been the only one to see the beauty of Mirkwood, as he was unaffected by its mind-fogging abilities. He was, of course, glad to see it starting to slowly return to its old self, becoming Greenwood once again, but he respected the calm of the dark forest.

After finishing his apple, he stood and slung his bag and bow back over his shoulder, ready to continue. As he took his first step, he heard a strange rustling from behind him. He whipped around, hand on his sword, but nothing was there. He stayed frozen for a moment, waiting for another noise, but the forest remained silent. He continued walking, but paid close attention to his surroundings.

The day continued without incident. Every few hours, Thranduil would climb into the trees and look at the sky to tell the time and where he was. He hated doing this, as with his blind eye it was easy to get disoriented while climbing, but it was important to keep track of his position. By dusk, he estimated he had ten more miles in Mirkwood, but ultimately he decided to turn in for the night where he was. He laid against a tree and closed his eyes, keeping his hand firmly on his bow.

[Warning: graphic]

Thranduil was in a dark, musty room. He tried to move around to find out where he was, but he was stuck. He registered a noise coming from nearby, slowly getting louder. High-pitched, wailing...a baby, crying. Light was suddenly cast over the center of the room, near Thranduil. He could see the baby now, in it's crib crying. Thranduil felt a parental instinct to comfort the child, but his body stayed stiff, not responding to his will. Suddenly, the baby's sobs stopped, and it lay still in it's crib. So very still...and then Thranduil could move, and he rushed forward. The tiny child was cold and lifeless, dead before it had had the chance to live. It began to crumble in Thranduil's hands, breaking down into dust and ash. Thranduil screamed, dropping the tiny body and falling to the floor. The dust filled in the air, getting in Thranduil's nose, his mouth, choking him...

He awoke with a shout, grasping at his throat. He felt that every muscle in his body was clenched, his entire being for a moment engulfed in the flames of terror. It took several minutes for him to return to the real world and stop gasping for breath. Finally, he groaned and sat up, feeling very un-elvish. He must have squirmed and thrashed in his dreams, as his hair was rumpled and his arms were torn from rubbing against rough tree bark. After a few more deep breaths, he reluctantly scaled the nearest tree to survey the sky. The sun was barely visible behind a thick blanket of clouds, but Thranduil decided it was a few hours after dawn. He slid back down, angry with himself for having slept so long. He got moving a few minutes later, hoping to get to Beorn's that night. He had been hoping he would have felt better by now, but his horrific dream had countered any affect his walking had brought.

He tried not to think about the nightmare, but his mind kept coming back to it. It stayed with him, occasionally the child's blank face would flash across his vision and he would have to pause and reassert himself in the real world. As he exited Mirkwood and traveled into the grassy lands beyond, a part of him wanted to go back. He started to think of the dream as a warning, telling him that he needed to spend every second with Bard, before he turned to dust as the baby had. For a moment, he even stopped and looked behind him at the shadowy forest, took a step back toward it. But that was as far back as he went, deciding that, if anything, his dream had shown him that he was not yet ready to return.

The rest of the way to Beorn's passed in a blur. When Thranduil arrived at the bear-man's hut he was at first unsure quite how he had gotten there. The sun was low in the sky now, and Thranduil was surprised to find he was quite tired and hungry. A roar sounded from the hills behind him. He turned around to see a gigantic bear standing proudly on top of a hill. As Thranduil watched, the bear morphed into a man, who was almost as large. Beorn trudged back towards his hut, not seeming to notice Thranduil until he was quite close. "King Thranduil," he growled when he did.

Thranduil bowed his head and tried to ignore the fact that Beorn was not equipped with any clothes. "I was wondering if I might stay with you until I am ready to return home,"

Beorn raised a dense eyebrow. "Of course, though I fear it's quite dismal compared to what you're used to."

Thranduil smiled, although his heart was not in it. "I think I will be much more comfortable here, as it happens."

Beorn nodded, and, after a moment of uncomfortable silence, went inside to put on some pants. Thranduil explored the little hut, although there was not much to explore. It really was quite small, consisting of only three rooms, each smaller than the average broom cupboard in Thranduil's halls. As he peeked around in what seemed to be the largest, but also the most unsophisticated of the rooms, he sensed a presence behind him. Beorn had, thankfully, put on a pair of brown drawstring pants. "This is your room."

Thranduil gazed at the stacks of hay that he supposed were meant to be beds. "Ah-good. I thank you, for letting me stay with you."

Beorn grunted in reply, and then left to begin preparing a meal. Thranduil smiled a little, finding great value in Beorn's silent nature. He wandered over to the hay pile, and, finally feeling able to truly rest, fell into a deep, dreamless sleep


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Beorn's home served as a blessing for Thranduil. He found himself more free and relaxed than he had been ever before. No duties, no promises, no worries. Only the serene landscape and the simplicity of Beorn's pure, easy lifestyle. After his first night, his neck had a crick in it, but he soon learned how to situate himself comfortably in the makeshift bed of hay Beorn had assigned him. It took a little while for him to stop looking for non-existent mirrors to check his appearance, but slowly he found himself not caring how he looked. In the mornings, he would get up with the sun and sit outside for a few hours, breathing in the clean, northern air. Sometimes, he would go hunting, or wander into the hills beyond Beorn's house, but usually his day consisted of nothing other than relaxation.

The only big obstacle was when Beorn turned into a bear. He had good control over it, but it wasn't perfect. He usually changed at night, when Thranduil was inside and asleep, but sometimes something would trigger him during the day. Even still, it wasn't as if Beorn's bear-form was unthinking and bloodthirsty, and Thranduil didn't worry about it, after a while. What was the point of worrying, he would sometimes think to himself, when his mind wandered back to his halls, to Bard. Here, he was free, and he never wanted it to end.

The mid-afternoon sun peeked out from between fuzzy clouds. Thranduil sat inside, reading as Beorn salted meat to store. Beorn didn't have many books, he wasn't a reader, so Thranduil was re-reading this one for the fourth time. He liked the poetic style of it, and its old, wise feel comforted him over and over again. Beorn paused and Thranduil felt eyes watching him. He looked up and closed the book. "Is something wrong?" he asked, seeing Beorn's stern facial expression and intense gaze.

"It's winter, now."

Thranduil was surprised for a moment, but now that he thought about it, the leaves had already turned red and brown, and most had fallen. And, yes, the air was cold now, Thranduil would often wear furs when he went out. And yet, none of this had fully registered for him, as if he had been in a different dimension. Not wanting Beorn to know how indignant he had been of the passing of the seasons, he simply nodded once and went back to his book.

Beorn kept staring at his, and, after a moment, tried again. "They miss you, back at home."

Thranduil finally accepted that Beorn wouldn't give up. He put aside his book and placed his head in his hands. "I cannot go back. I am...free here. I cannot leave that behind."

Beorn leaned on the wood counter tops and sighed heavily. "Have you even considered that they would worry? That they thought you were dead?"

Thranduil looked up and blinked. He imagined Bard slowly driving himself insane, the same way Thranduil had not so long ago. Tauriel, watching the windows for his return.

Beorn continued, a sharpness in his voice. "I don't suppose you even noticed when I traveled through Mirkwood, just to tell them you were alright."

"Stop it," Thranduil snapped. "Why do you even care? Why do you care now?" he stood up and went to the door, ready to leave in a heated fury.

"You are a coward!" Beorn roared at him, making him stop in his tracks. "You left them and didn't look back once. Of course I care, my question is why don't you?"

Thranduil did not know how to respond, because he knew Beorn's words were true. He should have gone back. He was a coward. After a while, he finally murmured in broken voice, "It was so easy," he gulped, "to turn my back on them, on him. Certainly much easier than facing him."

Beorn relaxed, sensing that the tension was broken, and sat on a wooden stool. "Do you love him?" he asked, the bear in his voice fading away to something softer.

Thranduil didn't hesitate, he knew the answer. "With all my heart."

"Prove it."

Thranduil packed to leave that night. He realized now, although he somewhat did not want to, that he could never truly be happy here. He was safe, and protected, but that safety came with a price. Of course, he thought as he packed, of course time had stood still for him here, because he was not alive here, not really. He simply existed, without purpose or love, without emotion. He had not smiled or laughed since he left his halls. He decided that it was better to be alive for fifty years, than to merely exist for an infinity.

And so, that night, he set out for his home, where he belonged. Beorn patted him on his back as he was leaving. "Go live your life," he said, almost proudly.

"Thank you," was all Thranduil could say. "Thank you very much."

The first leg of his journey back passed quickly, fueled by excitement and anticipation. But then, after twenty miles or so, the energy burned off and Thranduil found himself wishing he had spent one last night at Beorn's. He decided to carry on through the night, ready now to get back. A couple times, especially as he neared Mirkwood, he heard a strange rustling behind him. He remembered that he had heard something similar on his journey to Beorn's, but dismissed it as forest creatures.

He was in Mirkwood by the time the sun began to rise, he was in Mirkwood. He only realized it was dawn when he climbed into the trees to be blinded by bright light. He ate a quick breakfast, but only sat for a few minutes before getting back on his feet. The rustling did not occur again during the day, and Thranduil slowly began to let down his guard and relax into the journey. He noticed as he walked that the forest had become even less dark and gloomy since his last journey through it. A few flowers were even growing around, the trees seemed greener, and he even heard the occasional bird. This reminded him of hunting with his father and later, his wife in the olden Greenwood forest. Both his father and his wife had been excellent hunters. His father, with his strength and majesty, and his wife's more delicate approach.

Thranduil gasped as he lost his footing. For a moment, he felt himself falling, then he hit hard ground and the world swirled into blackness.

He awoke what could not have been more than a minute. As his eyes slid into focus, he realized he must have fallen into the dry river-bed that ran through Mirkwood. Only a short drop, but it was rocky. He groaned a bit and pushed himself up, deciding he didn't feel any major injury. Crack. The sound of wood splintering came from beneath him. He froze, terrified to look behind him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, bracing himself as he looked over his shoulder. His bow sat on the ground, snapped in two separate places. A menacing tingle ran down Thranduil's spine as he turned to find seven goblins, smiling at him.

Normally, it would have taken at least twenty goblins to phase him, but without his bow, and his back and knee sore from his fall, the odds shifted in the goblins' favor. Thranduil drew his sword and fully stood up, taking a moment to find his balance. The goblins sat there, still smiling for a moment, and then they launched forward, all at once. Thranduil slashed a head off within a few seconds, but the fallen goblin made all the others twice as ferocious. Thranduil stayed against the river-bed wall, knowing if he had to he could leap up top and possibly make a run for it, or at least have an advantage in the fight. He waited though, as he realized they didn't think he was strong enough to make the jump, and he wanted to surprise them. Suddenly, one of the six remaining goblins ducked low and ran his knife straight through Thranduil's knee. He recoiled and screamed in pain for a second, but quickly got back up, knowing he needed to stay strong.

Jumping was useless now, there was no way he could make it up the seven foot climb smoothly. Now, he hung against the wall only for support, as he could barely stand on his own. "The great Elvenking," one of them taunted in a hysterical voice. "Killed in five minutes."

"I am not dead yet," he snarled, trying to stand up tall and proud. The speaker, who seemed to run this little group, laughed, and the other's joined in. Thranduil took the opportunity to stab one of them in the heart. They stopped laughing and bared ugly teeth at him, one of them dropped it's weapon and came at Thranduil with it's claws. He managed to counter it, but it leapt away with only minor injury. Thranduil could feel the battle starting to go downhill. He couldn't make another kill, he made so many failed moves that the stupid goblins had started to expect where he would swipe. They danced around him, as if he were an injured elephant and they lion cubs, waiting for him to give up.

Stubbornly, Thranduil stood, hunched up against the wall behind him, his sword held in front. His knee throbbed, but he ignored the pain, trying to stay focused and aware. It was difficult, his mind swam around and his vision began to blur at the edges. They made little nicks on his arms and legs, but taunted killing him. They wanted to see him on the ground, begging for mercy. And, as he lost more and more blood, begging for mercy seemed his best option. "Given up yet?" hissed the leader as Thranduil began to slide to the ground. It drew it's ugly, bloody knife and approached Thranduil with it. Thranduil met the creature's gaze and, even as it towered over him, he did not look away. They stared into each other's souls and each was disgusted by what they found. Thranduil tensed, waiting for his death, but instead he heard a whizzing sound from his right. The goblin toppled over, an arrow sprouting from it's neck. Thranduil looked up to to find Bard smiling back at him, silently telling him to have hope, to hold on for just one more minute.

It was all over in less than twenty seconds. The five goblins left were no match for Bard's swift arrows. As the last one fell and Bard rushed over to him, Thranduil slithered fully to the ground. Bard pulled him onto his lap and held his head in a shaking hand. Thranduil felt tears build up in his eyes as he looked at Bard's face. "I'm sorry," he choked out, "Oh, Eru, I am so sorry,"

Bard was crying too as he stroked Thranduil's hair. "Alright," he comforted, "Alright, but you need to tell me where you are hurt,"

Thranduil felt his hand raise instinctively to his heart, because it throbbed with the worst pain he could imagine.

Bard suppressed a sob behind his hand, "No, no. You know what, I can figure it out. You just focus on staying with me, alright? Just look at me and don't go anywhere."

Thranduil nodded weakly. He knew he was not dying, but it felt good to pretend he was. Bard wrapped pieces of cloth around Thranduil's knee, which had a hole straight through it, and some of the other deep gashes. "I was a coward to leave you," Thranduil insisted as Bard finished his work. "I was a fool."

Bard reached down and caressed Thranduil's cheek with bloody hands that Thranduil felt must belong to an angel. "Quiet now," Bard's voice was as sweet as his hand, and the lips that touched against Thranduil's were made of pure starlight. Thranduil wondered if he deserved lips like that. "I'm sorry, we need to get back. You need your elven healers, now."

Thranduil shook his head, even though it hurt. "No," he murmured, "All I need is to be here, with you."

But Bard was a stubborn man, and so Thranduil felt himself being lifted up of the ground. "Thranduil, you need to help me. I cannot carry all your weight."

Thranduil did not want to, but he walked for Bard, distracting himself by watching the strong legs that carried him back out of Mirkwood. Thranduil tried a few more times to apologize to Bard, but he was dismissed each time with a stern word or a kiss. Eventually he walked, or rather slid along in silence, keeping a hand on Bard's heart.

He awoke in a clean bed, surrounded by a brightness that nearly blinded him. As his eyes slowly adjusted, he saw the instantly recognizable outline of Bard, and eventually he started to make out the face, looking tired and anxious. "Bard," was all he could say, still feeling weak.

The bowman's face instantly lit up and he laughed with relief and joy. Thranduil felt hands on his face, holding him so gently. "Thranduil, I love you," Bard said quietly.

Thranduil wondered how to respond, how to tell Bard that he realized now how much he needed him, and tell him that fifty years with him was like five thousand years without him, and to tell him how he had felt when they had met, and tell him that he would never forget him. He eventually decided on "I love you, too."


	8. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Years passed. Many, happy years full to the brim with loyalty and love. Thranduil and Bard never felt the need to get married, but it was not uncommon for their friends to slip up and call them husbands. They were a family, a unit. Bard's children started calling Thranduil "Ada", and eventually Legolas adopted the term "da" for Bard. For the first few years, Thranduil ignored Bard's aging, chose not to care, but as Bard's head turned silver they began to talk about it more. Thranduil came to terms with it. He accepted and embraced that Bard would die, and loved him just the same.

The children grew into flourishing members of Laketown, and of Mirkwood. Sigrid was as wise as the hills, and her single daughter inherited her wisdom. Bain grew into a brave, attractive young man, who did not let anything hold him back. Tilda stayed the same, in many ways. She kept the love most only possessed as children right through her teen years and into adulthood. Her tinkling laugh could light up her father's, or anyone's, face even on the gloomiest of days.

It eventually became tradition for the whole family to travel to Beorn's in the springs for a week or two to enjoy the sunshine, but they always went back home. Then one year, perhaps thirty years after Thranduil had been attacked by the goblins, Bard decided not to go to Beorn's. He insisted the other's go without him, but they all decided to stay home, worried for Bard's health.

It started with a cough and a stumble. Bard was taken into the care of the elven healers, but his health continued to decline. Thranduil visited him every day to tell him to hold on, but it eventually became clear was ready to die. And then, on a beautiful summer day, Bard asked Thranduil to take him to the lake. And there, with the sun shining bright at the horizon, Bard died wrapped in Thranduil's embrace.

:.:.:.:.:

The lake was illuminated by only flames as a boat sailed out into it, alight. Thranduil sat, surrounded by other mourners on the shore, watching as the boat and its inhabitant left for another world. Sigrid rose silently from her seat and stood in front of the group to speak. Her hair was greying, and backlit by the flames she looked older than ever. She took a moment to prepare herself to speak, clearly trying to stay somewhat composed. "Bard was a great man, in countless ways," she said, and Thranduil could feel that the words came from her heart, not from a piece of paper. "He was kind, and thoughtful. He was brave and he was gentle. He will go into legend as one of the best kings Middle Earth has ever known, as the Great Dragonslayer, and as a hero. But, to me, he will always just be my da."

Thranduil felt a warm tear trace his cheek, and he smiled at Sigrid. The tear was not one of sadness, or not the heartsick kind of grief. Thranduil would miss Bard, and he would mourn his loss, but at this moment, with the lake shining as if it had caught a star in its grip, he felt at peace with the world. Bard was gone, but he was not lost. He would find his way to a new land, and someday Thranduil would find his way there, too.

The ceremony itself was over before long, but Thranduil and a few others stayed late into the night. Finally, after Sigrid tapped him on the shoulder saying she and her siblings would be off, Thranduil was alone. He sat and breathed in the smoky air. The ripples of the lake and the whisper of the trees swirled together in a haunting lullaby, singing to the Great Dragonslayer that now it was time to sleep. And then, they fell still. Nothing moved or made a peep, everything was quiet. The whole world silent for one mortal man. Because that man had affected them, as he affected Thranduil.


End file.
